Blessed Cold
by flutiedutiedute
Summary: One cold night, one warm declaration. Carby one-shot.


TITLE: Blessed Cold

AUTHOR: Robbie 

DISCLAIMER: Let's just say that if ER were mine, they'd still be winning Emmy's. 

SUMMARY: One cold night, one warm declaration. 

SPOILERS: General Season 10 spoilers for episodes that have already aired. Takes place in current ER time. 

AUTHORS NOTE: Thanks to Sara for beta-ing. 

***

            The moonlight fell in gossamer strands across the wooden panels of the floor – stripes of pale, glistening light that melted into the darkness.  Outside, the abrasive swirling of wind and snowflakes thudded gently against the partially uncovered window.  Shadows formed by the moonlight and street lamps below crept stealthily about the darkened room, bleeding into the placid solitude of the night.

            Abby slept fitfully, tangled haphazardly into a jumbled cocoon of sheets and blankets, obviously troubled by some unconscious woe.  The large bed seemed to engulf and consume her – a bird's eye view of the current pose revealed a pathetically defenseless figure that begged to be protected and cared for.  Sleep was, after all, the only time her true vulnerability ever surfaced.

            A sudden thumping against her front door drew her abruptly from said slumber, and she jolted to a sitting position.  Her heart began to race, thumping erratically within her chest as a counter melody to the beat of the fist against her door.  She stood up, slipping her feet into a pair of slippers and grabbing a heavy robe from a chair near the bed and wrapping it tightly about her body. 

            She found that there was some sort of comforting safety to be gained in the warmth of a thick robe wrapped protectively around herself.  Her slippered feet padded ever so softly along the wooden floor panels as she crept carefully towards the door.

            "Abby?" A familiar voice called from beyond the thick wooden slab that separated her from the hallway. Her breath caught in her throat – she would recognize that voice anywhere. "… can I come in?"

            "Yeah, yeah," she murmured softly, quickly unlocking the door and pulling it open.  

            He stood in the hall, tendrils of disheveled brown hair poking haphazardly out from a ski cap.  He wore a pair of Northwestern sweatpants that rode up his calves, exposing the edges of his ankles and his thick white socks.  The black pea coat that was mis-buttoned and matched so badly with the rest of his attire suggested he'd left the house in haste.  

            "Come on in," she muttered quietly, feeling her cheeks color upon realizing that beneath her crimson colored robe, she was wearing the sweatshirt that matched his pants.  

            He shuffled noiselessly into the room, blinking almost confusedly and she stepped aside to make room. Newly bathed in the yellowed light from the hallway, she regarded him silently for a moment – drinking in the haggard appearance of the man she'd once called her lover.  His pale cheeks were moist and flushed and his sunken eyes apprehensively looked at his surroundings. She inhaled sharply, realizing his red-rimmed gaze was not just from the biting cold of the winter – but because he'd been crying. 

            She suddenly realized she'd been staring for too long, and jumped into action as 'hostess.' 

            "Can I take your coat …" she began.

            Just as he was beginning to start, "I'm sorry for coming here, I …"

            She allowed an awkward chortle and a ghost of a smile danced across his lips.  Her expression quickly became somber again and she reached out to brush the snow from his shoulder.  He closed his eyes painfully, seeming to lean into her touch and Abby felt every last ounce of resolve within her crumble.

            "You should come sit down, John."

            He nodded wordlessly, casting his eyes downward.  Like a little child, he allowed her to peel off his snow-dusted coat and lead him to the couch, where he sat down helplessly.  

            She sighed, unsure where to go next. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea?"

            Carter shook his head, running a hand over his eyes and finally looking up at her.  His mouth twisted into a sort of bitter smile, wrinkling with regret and a deep sadness that she didn't seem to be able to penetrate. 

            She bit her lip and reached out to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

            "Did I wake you?" he mumbled almost inaudibly.

            "It's okay."

            "Jesus … Abby, I'm sorry."

            "John?"

            He shook his head, falling backwards against the couch to lean his head forlornly against the pillows.  

            "I didn't mean to wake you. You're probably busy as hell with school and tests and your rotations and nursing and everything.  You should go back to sleep, I'll go."

            "Hey …" she tentatively touched his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "What's going on?"

            A single tear rolled down his cheek, and she found that she had to fight the tantalizing urge not to kiss it away.  "It's Kem."

            She felt something ominous settle in her stomach. "The baby?"

            He nodded. "Yeah … she, uh …"

            "Oh god, I'm sorry."

            He shook his head. "No, it wasn't that … she …" He paused, sitting up and looking Abby directly in the eye. "I got home from work today and she was sitting there at the table with a little sonogram picture."

            … She said that she had gone in to the OB without telling me because she wasn't feeling right about something and she wanted to go in and have it checked out without worrying me, or some bullshit like that."

            He shook his head and looked away for a moment. "She said she'd been thinking again about the baby's due date … that it didn't make sense.  Then she said there was another man in Africa – something about we were having a fight; that we weren't even together yet anyway."

            Carter shrugged, trying to look nonchalant – and failing miserably.  He turned and looked at Abby again, his eyes saddened with guilt. "Did you know I was going to ask her to marry me?"

            "I'm so sorry, John."

            He inhaled again, the air shuddering plaintively through his lungs, and he stifled a sob. "I didn't really love her, but it was the right thing to do – I mean, we were having a baby together.  And I loved the baby, I really did … I thought that it was just a matter of time before I would come to really love her too …"

            "Hey," she murmured, as his tears began to flow harder. "C'mere."

            She reached out to hold him close to her, cradling his head against her chest.  As his tears stained her robe a deep wet crimson that seemed oddly symbolic, she felt a lump form in her own throat.  Vainly, she tried to inhale a gulp of fresh air, but found that a weight had settled in her chest, preventing such an action.

             Instead, she continued to sit there, holding him close to her beating heart, running her fingers loosely through his tangled brown tresses.  Her lips tingled to feel his against them – but she held back, reveling in the feeling of his hair on her fingers and his own heart beating rhythmically against her breast.   

            The irony of this moment was surely not lost on her – but in light of everything, what seemed to the most ironic thing of all was that she had not felt so right and content since he left for Africa.

            Some time later, his trembling had stopped and he lay limply in her arms. She assumed – incorrectly – that he had fallen asleep, and some crazy part of her wanted to believe she'd facilitated this final emotional release.  Little did she know that the latter of the two statements was actually the truth. 

            Thus, she was surprised when she felt him shift uncomfortably against her and begin to speak.  "I'm sorry for bothering you, Abby … this is probably the last thing you needed right now."

            Tears prickled her eyes. "I told you not to worry about it."

            He sniffled messily, his head still buried in the soft and fragrant folds of her robe.  "But still. I … ah, god." 

            He pulled away from her, warily running his hand through his hair.  "I didn't even mean to come here – I was so angry and hurt when Kem told me, I just had to get out of there as fast as I could.  So I got into the car and just started driving aimlessly around, trying to gather my thoughts.  The next thing I know, I'm standing in front of your doorway … and I just needed to see you."

            Abby bit her lip and averted her gaze – feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the level of comfort she was feeling in his presence.

            He paused for a moment and then took a deep breath, gingerly reaching out a hand towards her face.  She closed her eyes as his finger ran tantalizingly along the length of her cheek, bringing her chin to face him and sending shivers throughout her body.  It was as if a long dormant beast inside of her had suddenly roared to life – she felt feverish and the onset of goose bumps all at once.  

            She allowed her eyes to focus back on him, frightened by the intense hunger and passion she saw in his eyes.  She shook her head ever so slightly, reaching her frozen fingers up to cover his hand with hers.

            "Stop.  Don't do this now."

            "I never loved Kem, Abby.  I know that …"

            More emphatically, she interrupted, tears literally weighing down upon her words. "Stop it. John, you're scaring me."

            He yanked his hand away abruptly, as if he'd been burnt.  "I'm sorry," he whispered – the words barely perceptible. 

            "I know," she whispered airily. She paused. "I know, but this isn't what you want right now, John."  Her voice almost shook with emotion. "You're grieving. You should sleep."

            She stood up clumsily, her hand clutching the spot on her face his hand had just been – the trail of tingling skin that felt like it had just been brushed with fire, and yet hungered for more. 

            "I'm going to get some blankets; you can spend the night here on the couch." 

            She backed away slowly, awkwardly; her eyes never leaving his.

            He finally leaned back onto the couch, nodding and murmuring a silent 'Thank You' as he closed his eyes.  She stopped for a moment, watching as the pale moonlight seeping in through the window caught the silvery glean of a tear falling down his face in its rivulet of snowy light.  

            A few moments later, she returned, clutching a warm down blanket from the linen closet.  Carefully, she tucked it around his sleeping form.  The corners of her mouth twitched into a somber smile laced with her own regret, and she leaned down to press a kiss to his ashen forehead.    

            "You would have made a wonderful father, you know," she stated softly into the air, the sound hardly audible above the weighty silence of the room.  "Someday … you still will." 

            She reached up to wipe away a tear gathering at the corner of her eye, sitting down on the couch beside him and patting his hand with her own. "I'm glad you came here tonight.  I'm glad I could show you that I still care … that I still love you."

            She stood up quietly and padded back into her bedroom, hoping to fall asleep quickly, but knowing her feelings for him would keep her up for the better part of the night.  Little did she know that as she lay down and curled into her blanket, his very awake mind would spend the remainder of the night processing the words he'd just heard.    
  


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**_Fin. _**

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